Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1) (15 page)

‘No such activity occurred,’ Staff replied.

From the wyvern’s perspective it did.

The unicorn nodded. ‘Did good,’ he heard a feminine voice say in his mind.

“Um, yeah.”
Talking horse, what’s next?

‘Pigs flying?’ Staff offered.

Sighing, he decided, “I’ve had enough of this. Send me home now!”

I am sorry but I cannot. You must come to me to do that,
the Summoning replied.
And you’ll need to do a few things for me first.

“No deal.”

You have no choice.

“No. You see, I’d rather die.”

You must come to me!

“Only on my own terms!”

The Summoning pressed on him. His legs threatened to buckle as his staff flared.

“On… my… own… terms!”

The Summoning eased.

The unicorn nudged him. ‘Climb on my back. I shall take you to the mountains.”

There is food and water in the mountains.

George hesitated.

Staff said, ‘Don’t be more of an idiot than you have to be.’

“Oh, hell.”

The unicorn knelt and he mounted bareback. The Summoning didn’t haunt him, likely far too pleased with itself. They reached the base of the mountains before they heard the echoing howl of wyverns.

The unicorn stopped, glanced back at him and bespoke him, ‘I shall deal with them.’

“I guess the Demonlord didn’t buy my death scene,” George bemoaned, dismounting his promised steed.

The Summoning replied,
No, he did, he just sent out more than one group of hunters. Those wyverns are just looking for a nice meal.

“Great,” he responded as the unicorn bounded away, intent on leading them off. He glanced up and licked his dry lips. It was a rather long climb. He slung the staff across his back, securing it through the loops Mendra had built into the inner lining of his cloak for such a contingency, then started his climb, wondering what next this world would throw at him.

Raven followed his dream. ‘?’

‘Why share this with you?’ Staff said. ‘Because you have choices too. You are free to stay or go.’

‘Where?’

‘It is a wide world.’

‘Witch?’

‘There may be others who would use you as she did. But, doubtless, you would find friends.’

‘?’

‘Yes, I think you have found friends here. George could certainly use another. He certainly shares the same enemies.’

She opened her eyes and found herself staring into George’s.

“Welcome to the show,” he muttered.

She licked his face.

“Yuck.”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Balfour said. “Get dressed, Gee-orj, Se’and’s apparently brought Lord Gerig and the entire new city council.”

Raven licked him again then rose languidly from the bed.

‘George, you do seem to gather most unusual bodyguards.’

“Don’t start,” he muttered, dreading addressing the gathering downstairs.

His newfound friend smiled wolfishly and Staff said, ‘George, I suspect they’re not going to be pestering you as much as you think.’

Raven’s tongue lolled out with a dark twinkle in her eyes.

“Good thing we won’t be staying much longer.” That the Summoning didn’t even give him a twinge, he knew didn’t bode well, not at all.

The next day George, his sudden family, and the rest of the party traveled on, only days ahead of the oncoming Demonlord armies. The group rode well off the main road, traversing the forest, hoping to pass unnoticed.

Balfour had suddenly interposed his bay across his path as Cle’or returned from scouting ahead.

“Surely, you must admit we all could use a rest,” he said, gesturing to Cle’or and her fellow Cathartan escort, who signaled the all-clear. “We are not likely to find a better place to make camp than here in the deep woods.”

If George had hoped to continue traveling, that hope vanished as the black liveried, well-armed ladies of their escort made the decision for him. All four of them dismounted. Raven watched from the back of her carefully chosen, rather placid mount, which was also the only horse willing to bear her.

Se’and, the nominal leader of the escort, blithely ordered her sisters to attend to the duties of making camp.

“This is ridiculous!” George said. “We need to get as much distance as we can from Edous as quickly as we can!”

Balfour frowned, “Gee-orj, the Summoning is not driving you to distraction. So no mageborn threat pursues us.”

At mention of the spell that beckoned him ever closer to the Aqwaine Empire, George said, “So what? Must I be irrational to want to push on as fast as we can?”

‘The probability,’ whispered the computer staff in George’s mind, ‘of such an event at this point, after the precautions thus far taken, is only 19.362%.’

He glared at the tall staff in his hand.

“Enough! I’ll not argue with both of you,” said George.

Se’and glanced at her older companion Me’oh, who aided Balfour.

The Cathartan women were growing accustomed to the strange by-play between their human mage Lord Je’orj and his magical staff, which they were often reminded was not a thing of magery but was something called a “computer.” George was a bit of an enigma to them all. He seemed to be a human mage, something which should be impossible. Humans were said to have no magic. Only those of elvin blood, however minute, could claim such talent. Yet the Cathartans had seen firsthand that George could wield high magery.

The youngest Cathartan, Fri’il, dutifully took hold of George’s bridle as he dismounted. She smiled up at him even as the black-haired girl, Raven, the youngest of their party, leapt from her startled horse’s back. Before anyone could think to prevent her she threw off her hand-me-down black livery, her sole garment, and raced toward the sound of rippling water, which only she could hear behind the bank of trees to their right.

Se’and groaned then shouted at her foster daughter, “Raven, come back here this instant! You cannot just scamper about naked! You are human and will behave like one!”

The girl came to a halt looking chagrined. So crestfallen was she that George could not help but laugh. “Oh, what’s the use! You deserve a break too after more than a week of hard riding!”

Raven grinned at her recently made foster father then raced off once more as Se’and said in disgust, “She must learn to think in human terms again.”

“So must we all,” George muttered in reply.

Fri’il half smiled at him. It was clear that Raven had found a place in George’s heart, perhaps so could Fri’il, she hoped. “That looks like a lovely spot over there to set out our bed rolls.”

George looked at her, clearly uncomfortable, knowing she was talking about more than mere duty. She took her Cathartan role seriously, all four women did, which was something both Balfour and George had discovered to their rue.

Staff twinkled. ‘Now, George, is that any way to treat your wife?’

George took his horse’s reins from her hand. “Why don’t you go join Raven? I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Please.”

She saw Se’and’s approving nod then grinned and quickly kissed George on the cheek and ran off with a “Thank you, m’lord!”

He blinked and shook his head as Raven raced out of the glade. Se’and could not help but laugh as he blushed. Cle’or took the reins from him and led the horses away.

Me’oh shook her head then took Balfour’s cloak. “You seem tense. Would you permit me, m’lord?”

“What?” the elfblood muttered in puzzlement.

“I have restorative skills, though not comparable to your healing gift, I have been told it certainly feels like magic to those I’ve aided.”

George frowned in exasperation at his and Bal’s situation. “Bal, I’m going to take a look around.”

Staff in hand, he hastily marched away. Se’and shook her head, wondering if he would ever learn and quickly followed as ever his faithful bodyguard.

‘You were not even a little curious, George?’

He glared at the staff in his hand and muttered back, “There are some things I prefer not knowing, Staff. It’s bad enough that my destiny is no longer my own. Now, do let me have some peace and quiet. Initiate minimum level rapport.”

‘You so lack a sense of humor. Very well: initiating.’

It was balm on his raw nerves to feel the computer staff’s presence fade. Yet for all that, Se’and dogging was difficult to ignore. He sighed then turned and faced her.

“I really would prefer to be alone.”

“Yes, I am quite certain you would,” she replied, having no intention of allowing that.

He shrugged and walked on. Smiling grimly, Se’and followed, again wondering how the only human mage in the whole world could be so stupid.

Fri’il broke from the tree line running toward the water’s edge as if it were the finish line. Raven frowned as she began to trail behind the young woman. She smiled, then her whole body shimmered and she fell running on all fours, bounding past Fri’il as a tawny furred beast with a black mane. She reached the stream first as Fri’il cried and laughed, “No fair!”

Raven’s tail lashed and caught her wrist. Fri’il found herself dragged unceremoniously into the water with a splash. Raven howled in beast laughter as Fri’il came up sputtering and dripping wet.

She plodded out of the stream and walked toward the brush. Stripping off her soaked livery and bodice, she set them to dry across a branch. She then set her short sword and daggers at the water’s edge as Raven shimmered, returning to human form with the widest of grins.

“I ought to tell Cle’or you had to cheat to win,” she quipped.

“Only evenin’ tings,” Raven replied in one of her rare attempts at speech and gestured at Fri’il’s longer legs. Mock seriously, Fri’il charged forward into the water, “Is that so?!”

Raven grinned and waded deeper into the stream, the last vestiges of her bespelled self lifted as she enjoyed her freedom.

The lithe blonde laughed and dove momentarily free of the water and out of Raven’s grasp.

Neither noticed the man with a cruel smile on his lips who snatched the drying clothes. His partner hurried to retrieve the weapons while the pair was distracted. The two men watched in delight from concealment and waited for the young woman and the girl to tire of their games.

As the sun set, Me’oh started a fire with what wood lay about the glade. Balfour abruptly found himself knocked off his feet onto a wide blanket as the daunting bodyguard with a faint scar on her cheek stood over him.

“Everything must be done the hard way,” Cle’or scolded, then knelt and pulled off his boots.

“What do you think you are doing?” he muttered.

Cle’or shook her head as she unbuttoned his jerkin, the last item he still wore from his distant mountain home.

“That’s better, after all, you agreed to rest,” she commented. “Now where are those canteens that need filling? Ah, there they are. I’ll see you later, m’lord.”

Then off Cle’or went through the trees. Balfour blinked and realized she had taken his shoes with her.

“Hey!”

Me’oh came over to him as he began to rise. “Do lay back and rest, m’lord. It will take some time before your bath oils can be readied.”

Cle’or returned not long after as Me’oh gave Balfour a massage. She set down the canteens, then arrayed her weapons before her and began to polish them.

“Those girls are rather noisy,” Cle’or complained.

“Weren’t you at their age, Cle?” Me’oh asked.

Cle’or heatedly replied, “I’m no older than Se’and, and I have not mothered two girls either!”

Chuckling, Me’oh replied, missing her daughters keenly, “Sharp of blade and tongue today, eh?”

With a sigh, Cle’or nodded and stretched her arms. “I haven’t been able to exercise as much as is my wont, which adds to my temper.” And with that she rose, drawing her short sword and began her exercise with the blade.

Balfour wearily opened his eyes and watched her. He saw she was favoring her recently healed injury. “Cle’or, are you going to let me take a look at your shoulder again?”

She feigned disinterest, then slowed and lowered the sword. Frowning, she nodded and set the blade back down and removed her livery. “Just don’t fix my scars!”

“I won’t, I promise,” he replied as he gestured for her to sit beside him. He examined her healing shoulder. “You’ve strained it again.”

Balfour concentrated and rubbed his hands along her shoulder. He closed his eyes and willed relief to the muscle tissue to encourage further healing.

Cle’or’s shoulder felt suddenly warm and infinitely better.

Me’oh shook her head at the woman’s tact. Cle’or had deliberately strained that muscle. It seemed to be from too much practice, Balfour believed, but Cle’or might be seeking a bit of his attention. Then again, this was Cle’or. No, too much practice, definitely too much practice.

Cle’or muttered, “Thanks.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” he replied.

Me’oh commented dryly and looked at the warming oils, “Would you care for some of these scented oils, m’lord?”

He answered quickly, “No, ah, thank you.”

Then Cle’or suddenly kissed him, pressing firmly on his lips. “I am sorry that I never said thank you for saving my life in Edous.”

“That was quite a thank you, Cle’or.”

“Next time you heal me, leave me my scars,” she answered and turned with a swish of her livery and strode off.

“I’ll remember that!” he shouted after her. She glanced back and truly smiled, which did much to soften her often war-like mien. She then donned her weapons with practised ease.

Me’oh chuckled as she prepared for Balfour’s massage, and washed her hands clean of oils and scents.

They reconnoitred. The camp was in view but for now they held back. He waved them right and left. Counted seven horses, three people in view in the camp, and one an elfblood, who had to be their quarry.
Find the other four
, he signalled, inwardly pleased.

What luck! Now they would wait and strike when all was just so.

“My lord!” Se’and called out.

With a sigh, he turned about and leaned on his staff, “Yes?”

Whatever she was going to say was suddenly forgotten for the look on his face made her angry. “Your childishness is wearying. I realize this is not your world, but that does not give you the right to ignore all its realities and compensations. Fri’il and I are duty bound to protect you. So, like it or not, consider us your wives!”

“And why is that? I don’t recall having a say in the matter or inviting you into my life. Your father’s gratitude could have been more easily expressed by a gift of a few coins.”

“You saved my brother’s life and the bonding is the highest honor!” she replied frostily. Her gaze flashed with determination. “We are your house as you are ours. We will protect you from all physical harm and we will one day bear your children, mageborn though they may be!”

George shook his head. “Afraid I have other plans. Not only have I no intention of consummating a by-a-wave-of-a-hand marriage but I have no intention of staying on this planet, wherever it is, any longer than I have to. I will obey this Summoning spell cast on me because I have no choice. But whoever did this to me is going to provide me my way home, that I promise you! And, lastly, stop calling me a mage. I am a professor of archaeology, thank you very much. I don’t do magic, just scientifically based parlor tricks.”

‘George, I’m not a parlor trick.’

“Shut up,” he muttered, “return to minimal level rapport.”

‘Oh, all right,’ the computer staff replied as it returned to quiescence.

More calmly, he sighed, “Let’s be honest about this, even these lands we pass through are not your becursed Cathart. Here men are not an endangered species, requiring womankind’s wholehearted efforts to simply survive. I may be slightly out of my depths here but so are you and your sisters. And that is the truth you must understand.”

The import of words that he had repeatedly told them since first her sire had bonded them hit her full force.

Her ire rose. “And who seems to, more often or not, need our kind of protection? Or have you forgotten the Demonlord’s maniacal interest in seeing you dead? Did we all imagine the fight in Edous? The Demonlord nearly destroyed all of humanity once, and for some reason has decided your death is paramount! We can barely let you out of our sight for fear for your life! We have proved our worth and will likely do so again! And there comes the price: we will bear you strong daughters and your house shall live forever!”